


Rigor

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-02
Updated: 2004-10-02
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:22:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lt. William Bush has a moment to reflect as Hornblower and Cotard row to the French Coast.  Set during "Loyalty."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rigor

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

Rigor.

Harshness. Severity. Inflexibility.

These four words do not describe the captain of the Hotspur. But First Lt. William Bush cannot help but think of them as he watches Hornblower and Major Cotard disappear over the water and onto the shores of Brest.

“You are in command, Mr. Bush. Take good care of her,” he had said, and tapped the beams of the ship fondly.

“Aye aye, sir,” Bush had replied, and had shaken his head.

A pang of jealousy eats at his heart, and he embarassingly wishes it was he instead of Cotard that sails with Horatio.

Despite of the severity of the mission, Bush would have relished the few moments alone he would have had with the captain, and a few minutes were all that he required.  
A short tug on Hornblower’s clubbed hair, his mouth soft and warm, his skin tasting of salt air…

Bush shakes his head again and drives the image from his brain.

“Mr. Bush, sir, orders?” Mr. Prowse is at his elbow, the man’s unwashed scent suddenly making Bush long for the close quarters of the captain’s cabin. He would rather smell Horatio’s unique scent than the musty one making him squint his eyes at present.

“Steady as she goes, Mr. Prowse. Inform me if the captain is not back by the second dogwatch, if you please.”

And he turns on his heel, going below as quickly as possible.

The captain’s cabin is his by rights for now, and he enters, a frown on his face, his blue eyes creased at the corners with worry.

“Damn it, Horatio,” he mutters. “Sheer folly. Inflexible man.”

He sits at the desk, the captain’s private room to his left, and rests his chin in his hand, rubbing the stubble of his cheeks rhythmically.

He looks about, taking notice of the little things that he doesn’t have time to look at normally.

The small brass compass on the captain’s dressing table, a gift from his father.

The framed paper announcing his commission as commander.

Bush stands, and examines a small box sitting upon the table, the wordworking exquisite.

Inside he finds two things, a tattered black ribbon, and a button obviously from a naval uniform.

Bush has an idea who’s they were, but keeps his mouth shut, laying the items back in the box.

He touches briefly the uniform coat hung up on the back of the door, and can’t resist a brief inhale of the scent that comes off it. He shuts his eyes, and imagines again what rules and regulations would never allow him to have.

He doesn’t know what Horatio’s reaction would be were he to act on impulse, but he dreams it to be the reaction he desires.

He risks a look into the private area of the cabin, where a small bunk and table just about fill the room.

He hesitates, then shuts the door.

He respects his captain almost more than he loves him.

Reseating himself at the desk, he picks up a book lying there, Shakespeares’ Sonnets, and begins to read.

“Mr. Bush, Mr. Prowses’s compliments, and the second dogwatch is approaching,” a voice says in what seems only a few minutes later, and Bush nods.

“I will be there presently,” he tells the midshipman, and shuts the book he had dropped onto his chest while he slept.

He makes his way to the deck almost reluctantly, and accepts the glass handed to him by Mr. Prowse.

“Second dogwatch sir,” Prowse says unneccessarily. Bush snaps the glass closed, rounding on the man.

“I can tell the time, Mr. Prowse.”

He peers through the glass again, noting the emptiness of the sea, where in fact there should be a cutter holding Major Cotard and Captain Hornblower.

Nothing.

“Mr. Bush?”

He expells a push of air.

“French frigate to starboard, sir!”

Bush turns to starboard, then looks back toward the coastline. Empty.

“Make ready, Mr. Prowse. Call all hands, and alter course. Due starboard, if you please.”

“All hands!! To quarters!” Prowse bellows, and Bush slams his hand against the rail once, the only frustration he allows himself to show, as men rush about him like rats running from rising water.

Damn, damn. Inflexible, wantonly risky, infinitely brave, foolhardy man.

Bush heads to the quarterdeck, and spares only one more wish before concentrating on the task at hand.

God watch out for him.

Fin.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


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